


Just Another Sword Fight

by DemonicGeek



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Year Slow Burn, I wrote this instead of being responsible, Idiots in Love, It all ends happy don't worry, Little bit of angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, No beta we go down like demons, Pining, Romance novels??, Slow Burn, Someone's just dramatic enough to take 100 year nap, They really are oblivious, Will you two kiss already, sword fights, there will be kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-10 23:44:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20143978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicGeek/pseuds/DemonicGeek
Summary: Five times Crowley won a sword fight, and one time he did not. Aziraphale maybe enjoyed watching those five times.Otherwise known as Aziraphale just really likes watching Crowley sword fight. And he might just maybe not get himself out of trouble as effectively as he maybe could have.





	Just Another Sword Fight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coryphefish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coryphefish/gifts).

**Medieval Times**

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure how they had made it to this point. Something about his honor being called into question and now Lancelot and Crowley were circling each other, swords drawn. Something about deviant sexual practices and behavior inappropriate to knighthood and now the Black Knight was somehow defending his honor of all things.

He wasn’t supposed to be cheering for the Black Knight over Lancelot. He was sent here to help for Heaven’s sake.

Suddenly, Lancelot lunged and Aziraphale felt himself gripped with worry. He knew by reputation the Black Knight could fight, but he’d never seen Crowley actually battle anyone before. He briefly considered using a miracle to slow Lancelot down and give Crowley a better chance. That one would be rather hard to explain.

As he watched the fight proceed in front of him he realized Crowley was really quite good. And then a niggling thought broke into the back of his mind about how romantic it was to fight to defend your love’s honor. He knew he should quickly squash any such thoughts, but he allowed himself a moment to bask in the thought of if Crowley were truly able to be his as he watched them dance around each other. It was all quite romantic really. He briefly wished they all had their armor on to hide the blush he was sure was growing on his cheeks.

Worry started taking over again as Lancelot began to take the upper hand. Lancelot was not going for a simple victory, not against the Black Knight. His blade came precariously close to skewering Crowley and Aziraphale couldn’t escape the gasp that left his lips.

Crowley looked up, concerned for Aziraphale instead of his own skin. Aziraphale shouts for him to pay attention as Lancelot’s sword comes dangerously close to his neck. Lancelot shoots Aziraphale a look of pure loathing as he assists his enemy. Crowley takes the moment that Lancelot is staring down Aziraphale to knock him across the chest with the broad side of the blade, sending him back into the dirt. Crowley’s foot was on his chest and his blade at Lancelot’s throat demanding he yield a split second later.

Now that he could breathe normally again, Aziraphale really had to admit that Crowley was quite dashing in a fight and really, it was a shame that this all wasn’t more romantic. He squished that thought down again as the Black Knight walked to him, offering his arm as they turned and left the Knights of the Round Table to their own devices.

At the very least, Aziraphale justified, he surely ought to offer Crowley some wine as a thank you.

**\------------------------------------**

**Sometime in the 1500’s**

Aziraphale sighed as he bounced around the back of the cart he was restrained in.

“Be quiet back there or we won’t ransom you! We’ll just throw you in the river and be done with it.”

Aziraphale considered. He could easily get out of the so called bindings they put on his wrists even without a miracle. But well it had been awhile since he’d seen Crowley and the demon did have a knack for showing up whenever he was in trouble. He was tempted to ask him how he knew, but a part of him didn’t want the answer to that question. He decided to wait for a bit and see how this would play out.

“Who are you planning to ransom me to?”

“Rich chap like you? Have to have a wife pining somewhere for you.”

“No, sadly not. I do have a friend who might come. I’m not sure you want to be doing that though.”

“Will he pay?”

“Oh I’m sure, of a sort.”

He gave them Crowley’s current general location and a description and waited.

He realized he may have made a slight miscalculation when the door exploded to the small hut the brigands had taken him to. He wondered briefly what they had written in the note they had sent as Crowley seemed to be literally glowing dark, a touch of demonic essence leaking through.

Crowley’s eyes met his, uncovered for a change. “Alright, angel?”

Aziraphale smiled at him, trying to diffuse at least a little of the situation. After all, all he wanted was a daring rescue not a massacre. “Just fine, my dear”

One of the brigands seemed to not understand the danger he was in. “Oh you two are THAT type are you. That explains the lack of a wife for such a dandy. Well, just pay up and be on your way then.”

Crowley hissed as he turned to glare at the three men now standing around the table in the corner of the hut. One of them was smart enough to pale as the demon drew a longsword. Paid indeed.

The three brigands each drew their own swords and despite it being three on one, Aziraphale had no concerns this time. They may not realize they were fighting the Black Knight, but this was the man who had taken down Lancelot. This lot would be quick work.

Still, Aziraphale held in the gasps of concern when a blade came too close. He didn’t want Crowley discorporated simply for his own daydreams of being rescued by a knight in…well black. As he watched the three brigands fall one by one, there was no mercy this time for the ones he was fighting, he allowed himself a brief moment of fantasy that this was all a grand romantic gesture instead of simply part of an arrangement to help each other. As the final man fell, a soft sigh filled with longing escaped before he could squash it down.

Crowley was at his side in an instant. “Are you hurt? What did they do to you? Why didn’t you just miracle yourself away?” The concern in Crowley’s eyes really was too much for Aziraphale.

“No, no dear I’m fine. Just fine. Heaven’s been on my back for using too many miracles for ages, I thought it’d be a bit easier to face discorporation than another irate letter from Gabriel.”

He felt a release of tension in the room as Crowley gently took his hands and began to untie the rough ropes he could have easily pulled his hands from. Aziraphale let himself wish for a moment that Crowley would bring a hand to his lips for a kiss before squashing the thought down again.

“So dear, drinks on me tonight? I thought we passed a small winery on the way here.”

Crowley simply smiled as he gestured for the angel to lead the way.

**\-------------------------------**

**Golden Age of Piracy**

It was storming. Lightning flashed all around as Aziraphale listened to the screams of the others on the ship. He considered that after over 5000 years he may have finally got himself into a situation he could not simply walk away from. Walking on water wasn’t all that hard for an angel, but with the lightning all around he couldn’t be sure who could and couldn’t see his miraculous escape. He wondered briefly if like the brigands all those years ago he could simply be ransomed.

He looked up to the forecastle deck and saw a familiar silhouette framed by the lightning there. He stared. It simply couldn’t be. Later, he would blame his distraction on Crowley’s sudden and unexpected appearance. He and Crowley met eyes and he could swear he saw Crowley mouth “that’s my idiot” before a warning yell escaped his mouth.

Without thinking, Aziraphale instinctively ducked as a cutlass swung over his head. Before he knew what was going on, he sensed Crowley’s presence at his side and looked up to see Crowley’s cutlass intercept the one coming down towards his own neck.

Aziraphale knew he should be concerned. His only thought went to daring romantic rescues on the high seas as he straightened and watched Crowley take down one and then three other pirates one by one who dared to threaten the angel. The lightning flashing and rolls of thunder truly made the demon look like a handsome blur of vengeance. He took in the sight of the coat flowing around Crowley’s body as he moved as only a snake could around his opponents. That hat though, was utterly ridiculous.

Crowley finally turned and eyed the angel. “You’re not hurt, angel?”

“No, thank you. But really Crowley? That hat? Dear lord.”

“At least I know how to keep it on my head, and my head on my shoulders.”

Aziraphale stood watching the rain patter around them for a moment more before looking at a small dingy attached to the boat.

“Care to make an escape with me? I dare say I doubt the pirates will take you back after that show.”

Crowley groaned “Can we at least grab some wine for the journey? Even with some miraculous winds, that thing is going to take ages to make it to land.”

“Let me just grab some from my quarters, and we’ll be on our way.”

**\-------------------------------------**

**Regency Era**

This all seemed to be a bit of a flash back to Aziraphale.

“You dare to insult my friend?”

“Friend? Looks like more than a friend. That’s what this is all about though isn’t it?”

“How DARE you.” Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arm to hold him back. Really the demon need not be so incensed about someone insinuating they were in a relationship. Was it truly that bad?

“Ha. I’m only stating what I see before my eyes. Look, even now his hands are on your arm!”

Aziraphale quickly dropped his hands as Crowley, ever the dramatic, literally pulled out a glove he threw at the stranger as he challenged him to a duel. Really over the top a bit Aziraphale thought.

As they trailed their way out of the city to a more private location for the duel, Aziraphale felt a combination of guilt and concern. He also felt more than a little bit of whimsy and as if he were living through one of those novels he did so enjoy reading. Both opponents chose swords and turned to face each other.

The fight began simply enough with them testing each other for weaknesses. Before Aziraphale knew what was happening, Crowley was literally twirling and seemed to be dancing around his opponent. He noted it was frankly showing off and quite over the top. He also very much enjoyed the show he realized Crowley was putting on for his benefit.

That is until the opponent to advantage of Crowley’s over the top flourishes cost him an actual hit. Aziraphale cringed as he heard the hiss and saw the flourish of red blood on Crowley’s cheek.

That seemed to at the very least get Crowley to stop with the flourishes and within a few seconds his opponent was disarmed.

“Apologize.”

“No.”

“Apologize, or so help me I will run this sword right through you.”

The man gulped and turned to Aziraphale. “I hope you accept my most abject apologies as to any insinuations or inconveniences.”

Crowley nodded and lowered his sword. The man gave the two a glance and quickly made his way into the woods.

Aziraphale took in the sight of Crowley, still standing there bleeding. Breathing hard. The look on his face unreadable. Crowley’s sword seemed to drop to the ground from loose fingers as he turned to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale did the only thing he could think of to do. He momentarily let go of his inhibition and ran straight for Crowley. A moment of surprise crossed Crowley’s face as he saw Aziraphale headed toward him. He pulled off his glasses to look closer just as he was hit full on with an angelic hug he never expected to receive. Crowley reciprocated in turn by wrapping his arms around Aziraphale and even twirling him around once before he put him down and looked into his face. And then, before either knew what was happening truly, they were kissing. Aziraphale didn’t know why the demons lips were on his, but he knew he was not going to lose one second of whatever madness had possessed them both.

After a time, the kiss gently broke, but they found themselves still clinging to one another.

“Should we go somewhere more private, Angel? After all, I did just defend your honor from this very act.”

“I… don’t want to let go.”

Crowley’s arms tightened. “Just a moment more then?”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how long they stayed in the small clearing. Eventually they sunk to the ground, content just to be touching, holding, being near each other.

Aziraphale’s head was screaming at him that this couldn’t be. It was everything he wanted and nothing he could ever have. Aziraphale chose to ignore it and simply enjoy whatever it was he could of this while it lasted. He felt Crowley’s hands playing with his hair and sighed happily and leaned further into him.

They laid there for nearly a day. Sometimes it was silent. Sometimes they spoke. Mostly, they simply enjoyed being near each other and both were afraid to break the spell.

Finally, Crowley sighed. “Angel, can you do something for me?”

Aziraphale smiled. “What is you would like, dear?”

Crowley seemed to pause. To consider his request. To debate if he should ask or not. Finally at near a whisper he said “Holy water.”

Aziraphale recoiled. The connection between their bodies broke finally. His brain screamed at him. No. No. No. There was only one use Crowley could have for Holy Water, and he was not about to take Crowley out his life not after the last 24 hours. Not after the last 6000 years. He choked out. “Crowley, no.”

Crowley held out his hand, inviting Aziraphale back. “It’s not for me if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s just insurance.”

“And what if it ends up being used on you regardless? No, Crowley. This is too much. It could end you. It could take you away forever. I can’t. We can’t. Just no.” Aziraphale started to slowly back away as he felt his head reel with the implications. All of this, gone. This wasn’t all he wanted, not by a long shot. But the thought of losing it, of losing Crowley forever. He was terrified.

“Angel, please.”

“Crowley, I can’t. I need to go. It- it doesn’t matter what I want. I can’t- we can’t. I need to go.”

Aziraphale turned and walked away. He heard Crowley say his name once. Softly. Broken.

He didn’t stop.

**\-------------------------------------------------------**

**Post Apoca-not**

Aziraphale had taken to joining a historical re-enactment society. Crowley had laughed and told him they’d already survived all that once, but Aziraphale still tried to cajole him into joining him on his weekly outing. After all, the food was wonderful and the craftsmanship on the clothing was simply divine.

The other men in the group quickly sized Aziraphale up for being there for the food. Not one for the mock fights, that one. While Aziraphale would occasionally look up at the sword fighting and smile a small smile, he truly had interest in watching only one being fight with a sword. Preferably to defend his honor. Then Aziraphale had an idea.

That night when he got home he complained irately to Crowley. “But dear, you really should come. The idiots keep trying to get me into the sword fighting ring. I considered it. Let me show you what I picked up today.” Aziraphale ducked from the room and came back wearing a simple chain mail shirt and outfit extremely reminiscent of his time at the Round Table.

Crowley tried to keep a straight face, but Aziraphale saw an eyebrow raise despite his efforts.

The following week, Crowley came into the shop dressed in his Black Knight attire. The chain mail was of course the best that could be miracled, utterly period accurate. He had made one small change. Across his chest, worked into the chainmail was a pair of white wings. He took Aziraphale’s arm as they headed to the match together.

Aziraphale sat in the crowd, wide smile across his face as he watched Crowley don his fake armor and pick up his sword with a roll of his eyes. Crowley’s eyes met the angel’s and all the frustration fell away at the smile on Aziraphale’s face. If that’s what it took to make his angel smile that way, he’d do it every day.

That was until he heard a series of homophobic slurs coming from his opponent. The smile faded a bit from Aziraphale’s face. Crowley’s eyes narrowed as he sized up his first challenger.

The whistle blew, and within 30 seconds had blown again as Crowley’s opponent was on the ground somehow with a bloody nose despite the sword coming nowhere near his face.

Aziraphale cheered. Then he waved Crowley over as he pulled out a small scarf “For me? Really, angel?” But Crowley smiled as Aziraphale tied the tartan scarf around his neck and tucked it into his shirt.

The bouts continued and Crowley continued to move up the rankings, Aziraphale cheering him on. Finally it was Crowley and the reigning champion facing each other.

The match began. Crowley tried testing his new opponent but was met only with defiance. The man moved faster, and stronger than he should have been able to. The match was nearly evened, despite Crowley’s millennias of experience. He thought to himself it was lucky it was just a mock match.

Then the man lunged stabbing what would have been a discorporating blow to Crowley’s chest if he hadn’t had snake like reflexes. A whistle blew. The man ignored it, and kept coming. Crowley realized something was very, very wrong.

He tried to step back and end the bout. The man swung his sword towards his head. Crowley ducked out of the way and brought his sword up to block. He looked past it to Aziraphale who looked equal parts elated and concerned. Well, he didn’t practice all those years to not give the angel a proper show when needed.

He began a showy effort of pushing the man back but keeping it interesting, letting him score the occasional close calls. The glances up to his angel and his shining smile made it worth it, as they had every time. They continued to fight as Crowley twirled around him, hypnotic as a snake. Finally he decided it’d been long enough and swept the man’s feet out from under him and placed his foot on his chest as he had to Lancelot all those years ago.

“Do you yield?”

The man gasped “I.. how’d I get here? Yes yes.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he let the man up.

Then he nearly fell over as an angelic fluff hug hit him unexpectedly from the side. “Oof Aziraphale please” he said as he wrapped his arms around his angel with a smile.

The organizer brought Crowley a simple crown, meant for his queen, that he gently placed on a beaming Aziraphale’s head as he leaned in for a gentle kiss.

Just as Crowley was taking in the look on Aziraphale’s face, an explosion rocked the field.

**\-----------------------------------**

**A few seconds later**

Crowley instinctively tightened his grip on Aziraphale as he tried to find the source of the explosion. Finally, from the middle of the field he saw a group of maggots coalesce into a humanoid form. “Hastur” he hissed. He felt Aziraphale shudder a bit underneath him.

Crowley pushed Aziraphale behind him slightly, grabbed the sword that had fallen to the ground, and walked towards the demon standing on the field.

“Hastur! To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“You’re dead, Crowley.”

“What, now of all times?”

Hastur didn’t bother to answer. He simply pulled out his own sword and advanced on Crowley.

Aziraphale watched. This match was not one that exhilarated him. Crowley wasn’t risking a simple discorporation here. He wasn’t sure what Hastur was after, but he was positive that it wasn’t a mild inconvenience. He winced as he saw Hastur’s sword erupt into hell fire. That was a holy relic. That could kill. And Crowley only had an ordinary sword.

Aziraphale kept an eye on Crowley as he went to work, doing the fastest summoning he’d performed in his life. He’d never tried to summon his sword back from wherever it always ended up, but he knew the basics on how to do so. He miracled the candles and other supplies he’d need and set to work as he willed Crowley to just hang on until he could get there to help.

Crowley cringed at the flame on the sword. This fight was going to be uneven enough without adding a holy relic into the mix. But he couldn’t stop now. Not while Aziraphale was behind him. Worst came to worst, Hastur may be settled by killing him and settling the debt for Ligur and leave Aziraphale alone.

Hastur growled at him. “I’m going to kill you. Then I’m going to kill that angel friend of yours.”

For the first time in any sword fight, Crowley felt a genuine fear.

Then before he knew what was going on, Hastur was swinging and he was using every skill he’d built over the years to dodge, duck, and deflect blows. The occasional reach by him to try to score a hit was quickly rebuffed and he focused solely on surviving. On delaying him. On stopping him from reaching Aziraphale at any cost.

Behind him he heard Aziraphale chanting something.

Crowley didn’t have time to focus on him, he was too busy fighting.

Crowley continued dodging and deflecting, but he could feel himself slowing down. Hastur was using demonic force behind his hits, and there was only so much more he’d be able to take without a sudden saving win. Then Hastur scored an actual hit. Crowley heard rather than felt himself scream as the blade cut deeply into his side. He fell to the ground. He looked up to see Hastur raising his sword for one, final blow. He wanted to close his eyes but he couldn’t as he watched seemingly in slow motion as the blade came for him.

Only to be intercepted by another blade. He looked back to see Aziraphale standing over him. But this was not his gentle, soft angel. This Aziraphale was glowing with angelic energy and looked furious.

Aziraphale stepped forward, letting his wings manifest and form a protective barrier around Crowley. Crowley found himself surrounded by a sea of white feathers unable to see what was going on in front of him.

Aziraphale stared down Hastur. “Leave. Now.” Hastur laughed. Aziraphale, Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate, turned his head slightly and stared as his sword turned to flame. Then, for the first time in six millennia, he lunged.

Aziraphale preferred to watch Crowley fight. He preferred things to be like one of his silly books. But Aziraphale was trained to be a guardian angel. He was trained by Michael herself. And despite the time, he had not forgotten one iota of his training, nor how to guard that which he held most dear.

Hastur fell back in surprise as Aziraphale pushed forward. Aziraphale was not as flashy as Crowley. He didn’t learn showmanship in his training, only effectiveness. Still, despite Crowley’s heart being in his throat he now understood why Aziraphale enjoyed watching him fight. Watching his angel in action was a sight to behold.

And Hastur never stood a chance against the principality’s angelic fury. The fight didn’t last long. Hastur’s sword was quickly knocked to the side in an easy disarming move. Crowley had to close his eyes to the angelic glow as Aziraphale drove his sword into Hastur’s chest releasing a bit of angelic divinity with it to ensure the smiting was total and permanent.

The light faded and a slightly rumpled Aziraphale stood there. He dropped his sword and ran for Crowley.

Aziraphale slid onto the ground next to Crowley. He kissed his forehead and then gently pulled his hands back from his wound, placing his own over it. He let the angelic miracle heal the wound, despite Crowley’s slight hissing at the pain from the divine power. Then he relaxed into Aziraphale.

“Is there anywhere else you’re hurt?”

“No, angel.”

“Ready to head home?”

“Let me just…” Crowley took hold of Aziraphale and the next thing Aziraphale knew they were in their bed above the book shop.

Crowley sighed and let himself nestle into Aziraphale more closely. “Don’t leave” he whispered.

“Never.” Said Aziraphale as he tightened his arms around Crowley. “Rest. It’s been a bit of a day. I’ll be right here.”

And Crowley slept.

**\------------------------------------------**

**Epilogue – A few days later**

“Angel, I don’t think I’ve ever seen these books before?”

“Mmm?”

“These ones. I don’t see an author’s name. But this one seems to be an almost blow by blow of my fight with Lancelot”

Aziraphale’s head shot up from the book he was reading.

“Ahh dear those are…”

“I mean really, the names are different, but how many other people knocked Lancelot down?”

“Ah, those are for uh personal use…”

“Angel….”

“Yes?”

“This one is a perfect retelling of that night on the pirate ship…”

“Well you were rather debonair that evening, despite that horrible hat and…”

“You wrote these?”

“I wanted my own version.”

“Your own version of what?”

“… All those romance novels. You know there’s so many out there, and really you’re just so much better than them all and…”

Aziraphale seemed to realize he’d said too much and simply settled for turning bright red and waving his hands helplessly.

Crowley took his glasses off to stare at his angel properly.

“You know, Crowley, I really do love your eye-“

Before he could finish Crowley’s lips were on his. He reached up to run his hands through Crowley’s hair as he pulled him closer to deepen the kiss.

Eventually they both came up gasping, despite not needing to breathe.

“So, what you’re saying. Is that you wrote me like one of those love stories you like to read so much.”

“Well, it was all I had of you at the time. Had to make do you know. Haven’t needed to pick them up in a while.”

Crowley grinned devilishly. “Well let’s go upstairs and I’ll see how much of that last one I can make accurate.”


End file.
